


Tapestry

by sapphire_child



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: then_theres_us, F/M, Multi, Supernatural Elements, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-20
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12491976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: She has lived many lives. She has been Empress and peasant, dictator and anarchist rebel. A wise old woman with the power of healing in her hands and a child who barely made it to the age of three-and-a-half and liked picture books and the pink shoes with the buckles – the ones she was buried in.





	Tapestry

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** shamelessly uses lyrics from Carole King’s beautiful song, [Tapestry](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7q-1OAbNXg&feature=related). You have been warned.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155122168@N03/38032143756/in/dateposted/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155122168@N03/38032143386/in/photostream/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155122168@N03/38032143176/in/photostream/)

 

_My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue_  
_An everlasting vision of the ever-changing view_  
_A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold_  
_A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold_

  
She has lived many lives. She has been Empress and peasant, dictator and anarchist rebel. A wise old woman with the power of healing in her hands and a child who barely made it to the age of three-and-a-half and liked picture books and the pink shoes with the buckles – the ones she was buried in.

She has seen so much – of life and death and endless endings. Of never forever’s. She has seen worlds fall and stars be born. She has brought life and ended the existence of entire solar systems at a thought.

She has been a Dame and a Shopgirl. A Valiant Child, the Stuff of Legends. A plus one like no other.

But above all else, she is this:

She is the Bad Wolf.

 

 

_Once amid the soft silver sadness in the sky_  
_There came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by_  
_He wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide_  
_And a coat of many colours, yellow-green on either side_

 

  
She has lived many lives and she has loved him in all of them. Sometimes he is a brother, a lover, a husband, a single night she remembers for the rest of her life. Sometimes he is fleeting and unforgettable. Sometimes he appears out of nowhere and surprises her by staying. He is a travelling bard, a tinker, a tailor, a magician, a sailor. He liked to eat artichokes one layer at a time. (He hates artichokes, they make him ill.)

He is so much a part of the fabric of the universe. He is woven into the tapestry so closely that none dare touch it or try to unravel him for fear that it will all become a horrible mess and tangle.

She embroiders around the edges of him in silvers and golds, nudging gently, just to let him know he’s not alone.

 

 

_He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn’t know_  
_Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go_  
_Once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree_  
_And his hand came down empty_

 

  
She has lived many lives. She has lost him in all of them – in some manner or another. It is fate or destiny or written in the stars that they are to spark briefly for a season (something close to a lifetime if they are lucky) only to be pulled apart again and again (and again and again) and again.

She howls at the separation, rages at the candle-snuff-end to yet another thread of _them_.

The tapestry grows more intricate and she searches for other paths to find him. She hunts for him amongst the fabrics, the textiles, the frayed off ends of threads that he’s left behind.

Occasionally she catches hold of them – even if briefly – and she is content.

Less often he reaches out for her. He is the cutter of so many threads, the reason for the wear and tear but she does not begrudge him it. She understands why he must cut and run.

It only makes her more determined to piece him back together in whatever way she can.

 

 

_Soon within my tapestry, along the rutted road_  
_He sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad_  
_It seemed that he had fallen into someone’s wicked spell_  
_And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn’t know him well_

 

  
She has lived many lives. She has saved him in all of them – in some small way. A child unborn/unloomed but brought to life by the expert touch of this seamstress of the universe. A nip here and she reaches out to stop him from stepping out onto the road and to his death. A tuck there and she is the last one left to stay his heart against the raging pain within.

She has saved him without meaning to, by accident and on purpose, unconsciously and consciously and absolutely meaning to as well.

She cannot always be there to save him, though she tries.

 

 

_As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared_  
_A figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard_  
_In times of deepest darkness, I’ve seen him dressed in black_  
_Now my tapestry’s unravelling; he’s come to take me back_  
_He’s come to take me back_

 

  
She has lived many lives. So too has he.

They will always return to each other, in some way or another. As brother and sister or as lovers, as child and parent, as two friends who never feel quite as comfortable with anyone else in the whole wide world/universe/multi-verse/beyond.

She will make certain and sure of that.


End file.
